


checkmate

by incognitini



Category: In the Bleak Midwinter (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28387542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incognitini/pseuds/incognitini
Summary: Bane of the South. There is a lot he’s given for the title, and he’s ready to give more. But for once he wishes he didn’t have to. Or: Queen’s Gambit (I) from Ivan’s perspective.
Relationships: (maybe one-sided), Anya/Ivan, Ivan/Anya
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26





	checkmate

“ _This_ is what got us all here in the first place! Endless slaughter has achieved _nothing_.” 

He sees the disaster unravel as Anya throws herself between them and the Wolf. The air is thick with an electric hum, the tension inside the building just as potent as the firestorm outside. For a second, Ivan worries Galina will choose to shoot first and discuss later, and he steadies his arm in preparation. There’s a red haze to the room, and he’s not sure if it’s from Galina’s shield or from his own blood pressure, but what he is sure of is that if Galina were to shoot, she would be signing her own death sentence by his hand. Consequences be damned. 

His voice is low and measured as he tries to reason with Anya. He’s burning from the inside out, everything a seething bruise from how she’d just thrown the endless battles and blood spilled into his face. As if he wouldn’t give _anything_ for a different life. As if he didn’t wonder night after night if all his effort wasn’t just going towards some big pile of _nothing._ As if he didn’t know they were, and that all he could do was keep fighting and hoping. 

He hardens his gaze at her shock. The last time they’d fought, he hadn’t been so cold, hadn’t been so forcefully detached. _They don’t have time for this_. Then her fist clenches and she’s all emotion and intent— 

“Aren’t Luka and Misha worth a try?” He almost starts to respond, but something about the fierce clarity in her voice shuts him up.

“Years ago, I was selfish, and a coward,” she practically spits that last word and his anger flares again. He finds himself pushing past Galina to stand in front of her. “And that selfishness cost me someone I loved more dearly than you’ll ever understand. And... I won’t make that same mistake again.” 

There’s a thread of anger still, burning, burning, burning, but he sees a mirror of himself if mirrors could reflect back something just as tired, but kinder, more noble. He deflates. 

“What happened with your sister wasn’t your fault, Anya.” He feels the full weight of the gun in his hands as he speaks and wishes he could reach for her. “You have to learn how to forgive yourself.” 

If she could only see herself the way he sees her.

There’s just resignation on both their faces now, an acceptance that they’re running out of options, running out of time—god, he wishes they had more time, dreads the creeping sense of finality settling in—and still she doesn’t let up. And he’s still angry, but also _proud,_ proud of her, and he thinks it’s about damn time she _fought_ for herself and what she wants, but is she really fighting for herself? Behind her, the Wolf shifts to hold his abdomen, and the glow of his eyes reflects off Ivan’s visor, and something in Ivan snaps. 

He throws the soulmate bond in her face. And when he’s done he’s just tired and wishes the hurt in her eyes wasn’t because of him, wishes he hadn’t given Galina precious information she could use. _Fuck._ He’s supposed to be smarter than this. He _is_ smarter than this.

He wants to apologize, but needs her to understand more than he wants (what does he want?), needs her to make a call because she feels it’s right and not out of some sense of outsized responsibility.

“If we want to survive this, we have to work together. And then _maybe_ we have a chance.”

And she does make a call, and she’s right, and he’s the one to understand something more about her. 

Her damned murder-bot soulmate has the gall to bring up her devil’s deal and Ivan’s body moves before he can think. There’s a primal thrill of satisfaction when he leans in and the android tilts his head back ever so slightly. 

“Let me make one thing very clear.” He allows every bit of pent up rage to bite through with each word. “I don’t trust you. But I do trust her, which is the _only_ reason I’m allowing this. But if you do anything to betray that trust she’s putting in you not to double-cross us, I will rip you to pieces and scatter the remains. And you know that’s not an empty threat, Wolf.”

Whatever the Wolf responds with, and whatever Galina’s protestations are hardly register in Ivan’s brain. They don’t matter. The glass crackles as the first wave of bullets hits. They don’t have long until Galina’s shield fails. He makes his own decision in those seconds. 

She fights him about it, of course she does. Loyal to a fault, with a blind faith in better things, better people, better outcomes. One of them needs to guide Galina back. He’s important, but ultimately replaceable. She’s too important, and more than that, he wants—

He’s spent every day of his life preparing for the inevitability of his death. He’s always been smarter, just one step ahead, but he always knew that would someday end. He thought he’d come to terms with it, but he hadn’t expected to feel so _much_. He feels the blood thrumming through his veins, feels every twitch of muscle, feels the adrenaline wiring him together and coiling like a spring. He’s alive, truly alive for the first time in a while and all of that life comes out in a heady rush as he cups Anya’s face in his hands. 

“Anya. Anya. If I don’t—” there are a million and more words that all hit him at the same time, and picking the right ones is like trying to suck up a river through a straw. 

He settles on the ones that he can tame. “Take care of Misha. I know I shouldn’t ask but—” 

“Ivan—” 

The glass shatters and a storm of noise roars in. 

Her face in his hands, bathed in an orange glow, is an image that will forever be burned into his mind. He intends to bring it with him to the grave. 


End file.
